Rum Luck Page 17

  He nodded toward the outdoors, and Ben joined him in the shadows. He saw little more than the usual motley array of insects orbiting a bare overhead bulb. He strained his ears for anything beyond crickets, the wash of waves, and the faint buzz of electricity in the wires overhead.

  There was a rustling in the underbrush beside the dumpster. By the time the noise registered with Ben, Miguel was already three paces out, bounding toward the errant bush. Ben followed, then stopped as he spotted a flicker of movement toward the front of the cantina.

  Then Enrico bore him to the ground.

  “I’ve got you now, you—” Enrico began before recognizing his prisoner. “Oh. Good evening, Mr. Cooper.”

  Miguel emerged from the bushes, looking somewhat chagrined.

  “Good evening, Enrico,” Ben replied, doing his level best to ignore both the adrenaline flooding his bloodstream and the squishy dampness that had cushioned his fall. “You were expecting someone else, I take it?”

  “I was,” he admitted. “I was hoping to make the acquaintance of the gentleman Mr. Christianson told us about.” Enrico rose to his feet, dusted off his stained suit jacket, and extended a hand.

  Ben stood up on his own. “The crack addict?”

  “Please, Ben. There are enough labels in this world.”

  “What should I call him, then? Chris didn’t exactly make a full introduction.”

  “How about . . . an aficionado of recreational substances?”

  Enrico seemed awfully concerned about the emotional wellbeing of a man he’d planned on tackling. Ben knew better than to try and argue the point. Tired as he was, his brain was busy manufacturing covers for a new magazine: Crack Aficionado. In this edition, an exclusive preview of next year’s glass pipes. Next month—

  “Over there,” Miguel said.

  Ben had almost forgotten that flicker of movement. He looked up once more and spied the silhouette of a tall, thin man in baggy clothing. Ben and Miguel dashed after him, but the man had disappeared by the time they reached the front of the cantina.

  “The best laid plans of mice and drummers,” Enrico said as they returned.

  The rear door flew open, revealing the outline of the world’s angriest businesswoman. “There you are,” Victoria said to Enrico. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you?”

  “Just long enough to find me?” he asked sweetly.

  “Uncle Enrico was searching for our eyewitness,” Miguel said, positioning himself so as to prevent Victoria from permanently harming his uncle. “Until we scared him away.”

  Assuming that was even their eyewitness. Whoever visited the cantina last night clearly hadn’t found what they were looking for. Perhaps they’d chosen a more subtle approach for tonight.

  Enrico clapped Miguel on the shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up, nephew. It was bad timing, plain and simple.”

  Ben stifled a yawn. “Do we have many customers left?”

  “We’re down to two incorrigible drunks and a trio of teenagers with ID issued by the Democratic Republic of Photo-shop,” Victoria said. “Your floozy left five minutes ago.”

  So much for figuring out what was going on with Jenni. “Enrico, do you mind if we shut down early?” Ben asked. “Miguel could use the time to heal, and I wouldn’t mind getting some sleep myself.”

  Enrico looked at Miguel, who was swaying on the spot. “Good idea, Mr. Cooper.”

  “I’d like to rig some tripwires before we go to sleep,” Miguel said. “Just in case anyone tries to enter the bar.”

  Ben nodded.

  “Just make sure you clean up the bodies before the rest of us arrive tomorrow morning,” Victoria said. “And you might want to lay down some plastic sheeting. It takes forever to get blood out of grout lines.”

  “Tin cans on a string, Victoria. Not spike pits or poisoned darts.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug.

  Miguel disappeared into the storeroom to look for whatever it was you built tripwires out of, while Ben brought Victoria into his office.

  “Can you make some kind of sign explaining that we closed early?” he asked. “I don’t want anyone stumbling into the cantina later tonight.” He grabbed a piece of paper and a marker from his desk and thrust them into her hands.

  Victoria leaned over to write the sign, then froze. “Ben? We need to have another look at Luis.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ben turned to face Victoria. “What?”

  “This paper. It’s a loan agreement,” Victoria said.

  “Doesn’t it match up with what we know about Ana?”

  “It’s not her loan. This one’s between Antonio and Luis.” Victoria rifled through the papers on the desk and started pulling out individual sheets. “Brutal terms, an aggressive repayment plan, and an interest rate that puts the credit card companies to shame.”

  “Yikes.”

  “That’s not the worst of it.” Victoria looked up. “If Luis missed a single payment, Antonio would have gotten half the value of his clothing line.”

  Luis seemed like such a nice guy, but if there was anything he’d be willing to kill for . . .

  “I’m going to go through the rest of these papers,” Victoria said. “Looks like it’s going to be another late night.”

  Ben slept late that morning. Apart from the hours spent climbing the mountain of papers, he was up half the night listening to tin cans in the wind. Then he spent the other half dreaming they’d found a secret passage full of cocaine beneath the pool table. When he emerged from his room, Victoria, Miguel, and Enrico were already hard at work.

  “You see? It’s a great idea.” Enrico pointed at a sketch on the back of a napkin with the tip of his half-chewed pen.

  Victoria sighed. “Enrico, I really don’t think we should bother Ana with this today.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

  “It might, actually.”

  “But if we just—”

  “Enrico, I’m certain Ana does not want us to bring a keg of beer to her uncle’s funeral.”

  “But think of the extra sales.”

  Ben took a seat. “Did you bring them up to speed?” he asked Victoria.

  “Not yet. I was waiting for you.”

  “Up to speed on what?” Enrico asked.

  Ben revealed what he had learned of Luis and Antonio, including the busboy’s firing.

  Victoria added, “I couldn’t find anything else in that stack, but that doesn’t mean we know the full extent of Antonio’s racketeering.”

  “So, Antonio gets Luis to sign away his soul and then fires him?” Miguel said. “That’s cold, man. Really cold.”

  “No wonder he wound up dead,” Ben thought, then realized he’d said the words aloud. No one disagreed. Good thing Ana hadn’t arrived yet.

  “We should have a little sit-down with Luis,” Enrico said. “When is he expected to return to the cantina?”

  “Not till tomorrow,” Ben said. “We’re closed today for the funeral.”

  “Oh, I expect we’ll see him sometime before then,” Enrico mused.

  Ben turned his head at the sound of tires rolling across gravel. A large van pulled into the parking lot. The driver honked twice.

  “What now?” Ben asked.

  “Tuesday, 9:00 a.m. Keg fridge delivery,” Victoria read from her agenda.

  At least they’d drown their sorrows in something cold. He walked over to the van and signed the delivery receipt without reading it, reminding himself again to work on his Spanish. For all he knew, he’d just purchased an industrial-sized pizza oven.

  The deliveryman and his co-driver wheeled in a large, cardboard-wrapped fridge and unhooked its ancient counterpart from beneath the bar. It took them but a few minutes to load the old fridge onto the van and slide the new fridge into place.

  Enrico called from the parking lot, “Mr. Cooper, I’ve found something that might interest you.”

  Ben joined his friends outside. The
reek of tequila had faded during the night, but the smashed hatchback seemed even more pathetic in the light of day.

  Enrico stood on the far side of the car, peering intently through a magnifying glass. A magnifying glass? Ben wondered. Where on earth did he find a magnifying glass? He shook his head. If this went on much longer, nothing would surprise him.

  “What is it, Enrico?” he asked.

  The musician pointed at the lurid Gringo tag on the side of the vehicle. Ben knelt in the dust beside Enrico, face to face with the skull and crossbones.

  “I recognize this graffiti,” Enrico said.

  “You what?” Ben choked.

  Enrico tapped the side of the vehicle. “It’s all over Brasilito. I was on tour there a few weeks ago. A few owners of the bars I played had their places tagged. Apparently there’s a local vandal who fancies himself quite the street artist.”

  Ben frowned at the neon-green paint on the side of the hatchback. He enjoyed street art as much as anyone else, but somehow doubted he could recoup his losses by selling the crumpled hatchback at an art auction. It had a certain character, but it lacked the poignancy of a protestor hurtling a bouquet of flowers. Hell, Banksy’s tax return had more artistic appeal than that spray-painted skull.

  He stood up. “We should look into this. We’ll go to Brasilito after the funeral.”

  “How?” Miguel asked. “We can’t take the hatchback. It tops out at twenty kilometers an hour.”

  “Is there anything you can do to make it go faster?” Ben asked.

  “You might be able to get it up to thirty if you drove it down a really steep hill.” Miguel shrugged. “I could try to fix the transmission, but that’d take days.”

  Enrico pointed to a sleek, bright red Mercedes-Benz convertible. “We’ll take mine.”

  “Thanks, Enrico.” Ben struggled to come up with some reason—any reason—for Enrico to remain behind and spy on Luis, but none came to mind. Worse still, this meant Ben would probably have to ride in the Benz’s back seat, which looked like it could scarcely accommodate a four-year-old.

  “There’s something else.” Enrico pointed at the dangling side mirror. Several thick, black streaks ran down the side of the fender. “I don’t think your mirror was broken off.”

  Miguel stared at the streaks. “Really, Uncle?”

  “It melted.” Enrico ignored Ben’s skeptical gaze and continued, “It’s simple, really. The mirror was broken off and glued back on before you rented the car. That’s what these streaks are—glue.” Enrico failed to keep a smug grin off his face.

  Victoria leaned in for a closer look. “I think he’s right,” she said. “I have an idea, Ben. Mind leaving this with me?” She took out her notebook and pen.

  Ben agreed and they went back inside. Would a rental company really send out a car with a glued-on mirror? So much for nothing else coming as a surprise.

  Ana arrived as the delivery crew finished connecting the draft towers. She wore a black dress, despite the sun and heat.

  Miguel gave her a hug. “How are you doing?”

  “I am okay,” she said. Her eyes were raw and red, but dry.

  Eventually the tears ran out. Ben knew that well enough.

  He took a pint glass from the shelf under the counter, held it beneath the tap, and pulled the handle. Foam overflowed the glass in moments. Bloody fantastic.

  “Maybe the keg needs longer to cool down,” Victoria offered.

  “Perhaps.” Ben wiped his wet hands on his pants. “Mind joining me in the office? I have a favor to ask.”

  Juan awoke to the clatter of pots and pans and the glare of morning light streaming through the window. He shielded his eyes and looked at the clock. It was only 10:35 and already the bitch was in the kitchen. Christ, what was wrong with her? He’d only been there for three nights, and this chick—Lara, Lena, whatever her name was—was treating him like a piece of her damned property.

  If he could hold on here a few more days, he could get the cash from Ana and head back to San José, leaving this backwater behind for good. He cracked his knuckles in anticipation of the fun he’d have sending out all those naughty pics to her friends and family once the money was in his hands. That would teach her to lock him out of his own apartment.

  Juan pushed off the covers and coughed, then reached through the empty bottles cluttering the night table to grab one of Lita’s cigarettes. He lay back in bed, relishing his first drag of the day.

  “Juan, honey, what do you want for breakfast?” she asked.

  “Nothing, baby,” he yelled back, then clamped a hand to his pounding forehead. All he wanted was some peace and god-damned quiet. Was that too much to ask? He’d need to have a little talk with Luna and tell her what he thought of being woken up at this ungodly hour. His head still throbbed from everything they’d done last night. Well, he knew how to fix that.

  “Baby,” he called. Then louder, “Baby!”

  “Yes, honey?” She poked her head through the doorway and smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want breakfast? I made eggs and toast.”

  Juan ashed his cigarette over the side of the bed. “Baby, are there any five-one-twos left?”

  Her face fell. “No, honey. We popped them last night, remember?”

  He didn’t. He’d blanked out around midnight, after they’d shared his last line of blow. “Baby . . .” he wheedled. “Can you go out and get some more?”

  Percocet and a cigarette. That was how to start the day on the right foot.

  “Sure, honey. I’ll hit up Carlos right after breakfast.”

  “Can you go now? Please? You know I get these really bad headaches if I don’t have a couple of Percs when I wake up.” He winced and put on a show of it. Chicks like Lana loved playing nursemaid.

  “Well . . .”

  “Thanks, baby.” He handed her the bunch of colones he’d lifted from her purse the night before. “You’re too good to me.”

  He pushed himself out of bed the moment the door shut behind her. Finally, some peace and quiet. Laina hadn’t been a bad lay at first, but that was three days ago. A man has needs. He picked up his smartphone and opened his email. Time to get in touch with another one of his ladies-in-waiting, as he liked to think of them.

  Nothing interesting in his inbox, just stuff he could ignore. Blah blah paternity test blah blah.

  But then he spotted a message from a name he didn’t recognize.

  From: Carlita (carlitaxx69@jmail.com)

  To: Juan (juandaman@jmail.com

  Subj: Heyyy

  Juanito,

  i got ur addy from my frend maria, at club vita. she says you like to party and known how too treat a girl rite. Hit me up next time ur back in San José.

  XX Carlita

  Ps. heres my pic . . .

  Carlita? She sounded like another strung-out party chick looking to score a cheap buzz. Juan shrugged. It never hurt to have another easy lay to hang with, especially when he was about to score some fast money. He tapped his finger on the attachment at the bottom of the message, but got an error message in return. Goddamned chick didn’t even know how to attach a photo.

  He tapped out a quick reply, “Hey baby, can u send another pic? Can’t wait to see you, I’ll be back in San José soon. XX Juanito.”

  He was about to pull up the photos of Ana when the front door opened with a creak. Juan switched off the phone, hopped back into bed, and reached for another cigarette.

  Victoria’s laptop dinged and a small envelope appeared in the corner of the screen.

  “I don’t like this, Ben,” she said, “Not one bit.”

  “Quiet.” His fingers flew across the keyboard. “I need one more minute.”

  “You do realize that what you’re doing is a crime in Costa Rica and Canada, right? And that I could be disbarred if anyone could prove I helped you in some way? By lending you my laptop, for example.”

  “Stop worrying. There won’t be any trace of this on your computer. Besides, what’s Juan go
ing to do? Tell the police someone thwarted his blackmail attempt by erasing photos he took without permission?”

  “You don’t know he took those photos without Ana’s consent,” Victoria said. “You only have her word on this.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Ben replied. An image flashed up on the screen. It was enough to confirm Ana had told him the truth. He closed the window, typed a command, hit enter, and waited.

  Finally, the blinking cursor spat out a page of jargon. Ben scanned the log, then rebooted Victoria’s laptop.

  “What happened?” Victoria asked.

  “It worked,” he said. “I’m restoring your computer from the backup. Give me ten minutes, it will be like nothing ever happened.”

  “Not good enough. I need to know exactly what you did.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s the price of using my laptop to commit a felony. I need to ensure that, if I’m ever interrogated about your hacking, I know whether they’ve got real evidence or if they’re just trying to shake me down.” She sounded calm but resolute. “This clearly isn’t your first time, and I doubt it will be the last.”

  The laptop spun up the disc he’d dropped in the drive and launched a full restore. “You don’t want plausible deniability?”

  “In for a penny, Ben.”

  In for a pound. Victoria was right. She deserved to know what he had done. And if she was willing to trust him with her computer and her profession, the least he could do was trust her with one little secret.

  “Fair enough.” Ben cleared his throat. “I sent Juan a message from a fake email address. It contained malware that opened a back door into his smartphone. I used that to identify and corrupt Ana’s photos.”

  “You wrote a virus?”

  “Borrowed. Tweaked.” He shrugged. “Think of it as a tool in my toolkit.”

  “Until five minutes ago, I didn’t even know you owned a hammer,” she said. “What if Juan made copies of the photos?”

  “His email password was stored in the phone. I fed the file parameters into my script, which hunted for the photos and replaced them with corrupted duplicates. The message is still there, but it’s filled with garbage.” That was the part that could land him in real trouble. Juan’s email account was hosted by a major multinational. The server was on US soil, which meant his script had violated a half-dozen American laws in milliseconds.